Sporky Meese!
by Gabs
Summary: Vaughn, Sark, and Will have a very serious argument... part 8: a food stop, a spork fight, and a surprise...
1. What IS the plural of moose?

Sporky Meese!

Ok, so fair warning: this has no point. There, I've admitted it. So don't whine about how… pointless it is, because I just told you. And because it's pointless, it doesn't all have to make sense, right? Right. Ok, now that we've got that all straight…

Sark sighed to himself. His current disagreement with one Agent Michael Vaughn was once again causing him to doubt the true intelligence of the Central Intelligence Agency. Obviously, Vaughn had absolutely no clue what he was talking about. His ignorance made Sark sick to his stomach.

"Why are you so stubborn?" Vaughn questioned.

"Me? You're the one who just can't admit it when he's wrong. Which you are, by the way. Wrong, that is."

"What? I'm not wrong here. You are. But hey, that's nothing new. You're the bad guy, you're always wrong."

"You know, it's not always so cut and paste… so black and white… so crystal clear… so-"

"I get the point! There are shades of gray, don't judge a book by it's cover, don't count your chickens before they hatch." Sark stared at him.

"Chickens have nothing to do with this."

"Do you have a point?"

"Of course. I'm Mr. Sark, I always have a point. And in this case, my point is, the plural of moose is meese." Vaughn shook his head and sighed in exasperation.

"No. It's moosepotami. Everyone knows that."

"Now you're just making up silly words."

"No I'm not. That's the true answer. Meese… now, that is a silly word." Suddenly, Will appeared from out of nowhere. (well, it probably was somewhere. Will's actually not an alien, so he can't come from nowhere. And hey, even if he were an alien, he'd have to come from somewhere, right? Right. So, for the sake of logic, which this fic obviously depends highly upon, we shall instead say…) from out of the 3rd story window, Will appeared, and joined in the argument.

"You're both wrong. It's moose. Everyone with half a brain knows that."

"Oh, so you only have half a brain?" Sark queried.

"No, I have two halves! I mean, a whole one!"

"I somehow doubt that…" Sark said dryly.

"Will, I don't doubt your intelligence, but it's not moose. Moose is just for when you're talking about one. For multiple, it's moosepotami." Sark and Will sighed simultaneously. Annoyed at the obviously diminished intelligence of the other two men, Sark turned and reached for a spork to finish eating his ice cream. (What happened to the utensil he began eating with, you ask? No one knows… but whatever happened, it was probably Sloane's fault.) Anyway, as I was saying, Sark grabbed a spork to finish his sorbet… did I say ice cream? Oops. Oh well, now it's sorbet.

Spying (because he is, of course. A spy.) Sark grab the spork, Vaughn gasped dramatically and tried to grab the awe inspiring utensil from his nemesis.

"That's the last spork!" he shouted. Sark blinked and turned to glare at him.

"You're not more than a foot away. Screaming is not necessary."

"I didn't scream" Vaughn protested.

"Uh… yeah you did," Will said timidly.

"Shut up," Vaughn growled.

"Make me!" Will retorted. Sark sat back to watch, and finish his frozen yogurt… or whatever was in his bowl. It was cold, that's all we know for sure. Suddenly, Will stumbled back into Sark, and his bowl of cold stuff flew all over him… and the spork flew into the pool behind him. All three men gasped, and watched the precious item drift to the bottom of the pool. Sark glared at Will. 

"Look what you've done, you imbecile!"

"It's not my fault… he pushed me!" Will sputtered, pointing at Vaughn.

"Oh sure, blame me."

"Why wouldn't I? You caused it!"

"Well if Sark hadn't taken the last spork, we wouldn't be in this predicament to begin with!"

"I take offense to that!" Sark stated.

"Noted," Vaughn replied dryly. With an angry noise (yeah, that's as descriptive as we're getting. Deal with it. Imagine it yourself. Good job.) Sark pounced, tackling Vaughn to the grass. They rolled around for a few moments, each battling for control, until they hit Will, and all three somehow ended up in the pool. They stood up simultaneously, and all began swinging at one another. At some point during the fray, Vaughn's white shirt was ripped, exposing his dripping chest. He posed dramatically for a long moment, until Sark and Will elbowed him, causing him to fall face first into the grass.

As Vaughn attempted to recover, Sark and Will continued battling. Sark easily got the upper hand, being a much more experienced fighter than Will could ever hope to be. Sark tripped Will, who splashed into the shallow water and began gasping for breath… until he realized that it was only a two feet deep kiddie pool. At that point, he stood up in annoyance, finding that his shirt had gone completely missing. With an aggravated sigh, he grabbed at Sark's shirt, until Vaughn rejoined the battle, and they both began ripping at Sark's clothing… only the top half people, stay out of that gutter! The shirt ripped in half, causing Vaughn and Will both to go flying, and leaving the soaked Sark standing alone in the pool. 

He jumped out, and was about to attack the other two men, when a shocked voice interrupted their shenanigans.

"What in the hell is going on here?" All three men stopped what they were doing immediately, and slowly turned, with sheepish looks on their faces, to see Sydney Bristow standing just a few feet away, hands on hips, looking utterly confused… though not entirely upset… and waiting for some kind of response.

No answer was forthcoming, and they all stood there staring at one another for a few moments. Finally, Sydney sighed.

"I'm waiting!"

Ok, that's about it for now… just a slight (very slight) departure from the angst I love so much… but I think I'll return home tomorrow, and carry on with my normal stuff… well, normal in relative terms… eh, whatever. If you have no idea what this fic is about, I can assure you- you're not alone. 


	2. Mud Wrestling and a Wet Tshirt Contest

"Well?" Sydney demanded impatiently. Vaughn twiddled his thumbs; Will played with his hair; Sark stared moodily into the distance. Suddenly, a voice from behind her gave Sydney an answer.

"They were arguing about the correct plural of moose," Weiss stated.

"What? How can they argue about something that's a fact?"

"Beats me. Everyone knows it's mooses."

"Meese."

"Moose!"

"Moosepotami!!" Sydney looked around, and instantly noticed a common

trend. Turning to the only man there who seemed remotely sane, Sydney asked about it.

          "Weiss… why are all of you lacking in shirts?" He shrugged.

          "I was just sunbathing… working on my tan to impress the ladies… who knows about those three." They turned to see Vaughn, Sark, and Will all bickering again. For no apparent reason, the three men all fell silent and began looking around. Will seemed to spot what he was looking for first, as he grinned proudly. A moment later, he pulled his white tank top back over his head. Sark pouted at him as he picked up the shredded remains of his own shirt. Vaughn just shook his head at both of them, feeling a sudden breeze conveniently blow what was left of his shirt away from his chest. He shivered, because obviously when one is wet and the wind is blowing, it gets a tad bit cold. So yes, he did shiver.

          Sydney frowned as she looked at the three men.

          "Was there a point to any of that?" she questioned.

          "There is always a point. Always," Sark said.

          "I'm not so sure about that," Will demurred. 

          "Neither am I," Vaughn agreed.

          "Well I am," Sark stated sharply.

          "You're wrong. Again. Didn't we already go over this? You're always wrong!" Vaughn debated.

          "Man, you could argue with him for six months, and he still wouldn't get it," Will noted.

          "Trying to get this guy to see the truth… that's worse than death," Vaughn sighed. Will nodded. Sydney and Weiss exchanged confused glances. Sark glared at everyone.

          "Do you even recall what we're arguing about anymore?" he questioned. Vaughn and Will fell into silent solitude, before glancing to Weiss. He held up his hands quickly.

          "Hey, don't look at me. I'm just a silent observer!" he protested.

          "It's moosepotami," Vaughn huffed. Sark looked at him mildly.

          "Um… actually… I, uh… I think it might be meese after all," Will stuttered. Vaughn whirled on him.

          "What? First you say moose- how utterly goofy is that? - and now, you agree with Sark? On _meese_?" Will shrugged.

          "It's logical. I mean, goose plural is geese, why wouldn't moose plural be meese?"

          "Mongoose plural is mongooses," Weiss put in mildly.

          "Is it really?" Sydney asked.

          "I think so."

          "Hey, you're supposed to be a silent observer Eric, remember? Silent observers don't speak!" Weiss shrugged.

          "Fine. I'm just going to go get some ham and cheese." He strolled into the house, and Sydney stared after him, wondering where they were. With a shrug, she turned back to the raging debate.

          "I cannot believe you, Will. I mean, you… that… it was a double cross! That's what it was!"

          "What? Don't be ridiculous!"

          "Did you just call me ridiculous?"

          "No! I mean… yes? Wait… did I?"

          "Yes, Will, you did!" With that, Vaughn tackled Will once more. Sark quickly sidestepped the two men, and they splashed into a puddle of mud that had formed after the fight in the pool. Sark smirked and began looking for his bowl of cold stuff… until he realized it had been lost. He sighed sadly and turned his attention to the mud wrestling. Suddenly, a glob of mud flew and hit his head, disrupting his hair, which had somehow returned to normal after the water fight. With a gasp, Sark wiped the mud away. It was quickly replaced by more, as Vaughn and Will thrashed about wildly in the puddle. Now angry, Sark jumped into the midst of the fray.

          Still watching from a distance, Sydney sighed. A moment later, Weiss returned with his ham and cheese. He raised an eyebrow.

          "Ok… I don't know about you, but three guys mud wrestling was not on the top of the list of things I wanted to see today." Sydney grinned to herself. Weiss quickly finished eating his ham and cheese, and then looked around.

          "I need a nice spot to lie down and finish my tanning…" he mumbled. After lengthy consideration, punctuated by the occasional dodging of mud, he finally settled on the perfect spot. With a grin, he began to walk toward it. Sydney had been intently watching the muddy battle, but at Weiss' sudden howl of pain, she turned her attention to him… just in time to see him clutch his left foot, hop around madly on the right foot, and end up tripping into the pool. She quickly ran to his side, finding him sprawled in the shallow pool, the water covering his chest and face. He sat up swiftly, and spat out a mouthful of the liquid.

          "What happened?" Sydney questioned, discreetly shifting her position so she could continue watching Vaughn, Will, and Sark. Will was currently on top… er, winning, anyway… but that soon changed, as Sark took his feet out from under him before getting a faceful of mud from Vaughn. Will pulled on his ankle, and all three were once again reduced to flailing about in the mud.

          "I stepped on that damn spork!" Weiss yowled. Looking away from the entrancing battle, Sydney reached over and picked up the amazing utensil.

          "Wow… it didn't break. Not even a crack in it," she noted. Suddenly, there was silence from the mud pit. Vaughn and Sark were both staring at her; Will was attempting to cleanse himself of some of the mud. Sydney quickly jumped to her feet.

          "What's going on?" she demanded, alarmed.

          "That… is it possible?" Vaughn sounded awed.

          "It may be…" Sark whispered reverently.

          "What?" Sydney screeched.

          "The Great Spork of Rambaldi!" Sark gasped. Sydney looked at the item in her hand.  

          "Spork of Rambaldi… right…"         

          "Not just a spork! The Great Spork!" Sark yelled, taking a step towards her. 

"What are you doing in our yard?" an annoyed voice rang out. Everyone turned slowly, recognizing it. Jack stood there, hands on hips, glaring at everyone. Irina stood next to him, looking annoyed. Weiss quickly jumped up and looked at the group.

          "There's just one thing left to do here…" he said solemnly.

          "What might that be?" Irina asked. Weiss looked from her to Sydney, and then nodded to himself.

          "It's the only solution."

          "Well, what is it?" Jack demanded.

          "It's time… for a wet t-shirt contest."

          "Excuse me? Agent Weiss, I am not about to allow you to-" Sydney cut him off.

          "No, wait… I think it's a damn good idea," she said. All of the men looked at her in shock.

          "You do??" She grinned at her mother, who sidled over to her. Jack walked over and stood between Weiss and the three muddy men.

          "Yes… I do." Sydney and Irina exchanged glances. The supposed Great Spork of Rambaldi quite forgotten, everyone watched them intently. Irina turned her back on them, and moments later, whirled back around, hose in hand. With a grin, she flicked it on… and began spraying Jack, Will, Sark, Vaughn, and Weiss. Laughing, Sydney picked up a second hose (hey, everyone has two hoses in the exact same spot, right?) and joined her mother.

          Soon, all traces of mud were gone from Will, Sark, and Vaughn. They, as well as the two other men, were left dripping wet, staring at Sydney and Irina.

          "Sweetheart… now might be a good time to run," Irina noted. Sydney nodded briskly.

          "Agreed." They dropped the hoses and made a break for the house. They were almost at the door when they were intercepted… by one Agent James Lennox. 

          "What the hell are you doing here?" Sydney demanded. He shrugged.

          "You think I know?"

          "I guess not… either way, move!" He shook his head. 

          "Sorry, can't do that."  
          "What? Why not?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his coat pocket. 

          "I'm contractually obligated to make sure you don't go into the house." Sydney whirled around to see that she and Irina were trapped. Irina seemed to have other ideas; she pulled back and punched Lennox as hard as she could. He stumbled back into the sliding glass door, and slumped to the ground. 

          "Haha!" Irina shouted victoriously. She quickly moved Lennox out of the way, and pulled on the door. 

          It didn't budge. She tugged harder, until she almost fell over. Still, it wouldn't move.

          "Uh… mom?" Sydney said timidly.

          "What?" Irina gasped, still yanking on the door. Sydney pointed inside. There stood Marshall, watching Irina in fascination. As soon as her eyes met his, however, he turned and ran. Looking closely, Irina realized that he had locked it. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Finally, she turned to face five soaked men. As soon as she did so, she was met with a wave of water from a hose held by Jack. Sydney was suffering the same fate. Eventually, the cascade stopped. Irina slowly opened her eyes, releasing a breath as water dripped down her body.

          "Even?" she questioned. Looking around, everyone nodded.

          "Ok." Sydney ran a hand over her face, wiping away as much excess water as she could before she moved down to wring out her wet shirt.

          "All of this… over mooses," Weiss sighed.

          "Meese," Will and Sark said simultaneously. Sark glared at Will, who shrugged.

          "Moosepotami," Vaughn corrected. Sydney rolled her eyes.

          "That's what this is about?" Jack asked incredulously. Everyone else nodded.

          "There is one way to get an answer to your question…" Irina said enigmatically.

          "Oh really? What's that?" Vaughn asked. Irina stared into the sunset for a moment, then frowned. She quickly turned and peered into the house, before focusing again on the sunset.

          "Is something wrong?" Will questioned.

          "Yes… it's just past noon," Irina noted. Everyone swung their gaze to the sunset.

          "Damn Sloane," Sydney mumbled.

          "Hmm… anyway, on to more important subjects. The Great Debate can be solved in one way…" she again trailed off enigmatically, and turned to stare into the sunset. Everyone waited for the answer. There was a long silence. A very long silence. No, seriously, it was really really long. But anyway, Irina eventually broke the long silence, turning back to the rest of the group and nodding wisely.

"The answer… is a road trip!"


	3. A Sporktacularly Rambaldiish Beginning t...

Everyone stared at Irina for a long moment… Jack included. She just continued to stare into the distance. Finally, Sark found the nerve to question her.

"A road trip?" Irina nodded.

"Yes. It's the only solution."

"Ok, sounds good. So where are we going? And how do we get there?" Will asked.

"The first stop is Sporkane, Washington. After that, we shall see where the road takes us. As for transportation-" Jack cut her off.

"Sporkane?" Irina glanced around, looking paranoid.

"Spokane. I said Spokane. No 'r' in there."

"Yes there was," Vaughn protested.

"No there wasn't," Irina said tightly.

"Ok, calm down, Spor… Spokane it is. I'm not entirely sure how we'll get there."

"We could always travel on a herd of meese," Will suggested. Sydney flinched; her mind was suddenly filled with visions of the group of seven riding across California and up to Washington… it was a somewhat unsettling image. 

"I recall seeing some cars in the driveway earlier," Sark commented.

"We will not touch my Dodge Viper," Irina said quickly.

"Why not?" Weiss asked.

"Er… not enough room." Weiss gave her a suspicious look.

"I think we could all fit into a Ford Focus," Vaughn said idly. There was a long silence, duri… you know what? Actually, it was pretty brief. But it _felt _really long. Ever had that happen? Where it's really only six seconds, but it feels like six months? Yeah, that's what that silence felt like… so anyway, moving on. There was a long, brief silence, during which everyone stared at Vaughn.

"We'll just pass on that one buddy," Weiss said. Vaughn rolled his eyes, which wandered to the street. Well, they were still in his head, of course, but I just meant he looked towards the street. Little clarification there. Some of you may be prone to confuzion, so I didn't want that to happen.

At any rate, as he glanced to the street, Vaughn caught sight of a little yellow bus parked on the curb.

"Would that work?" he questioned. Will groaned; the little yellow bus brought back some memories he would rather keep repressed. Sark, however, grinned in delight.

"Let's take it!" he crowed. Everyone looked to Irina, who shrugged.

"Fine by me. Who's driving?" Jack raised his hand.

"I will."

"Nooooo!!" Sark howled. Surprised by the outburst, the rest of the people looked at him.

"I want to drive!" he protested.

"What? YOU? You're some kind of psycho killer, and you think we're going to let you drive?" Vaughn asked in disbelief.

"I'm a good driver! I rarely go more than 20 above speed limit, and I don't hit too many people… I promise!"

"No way. You're not driving. That's it, period, end of story," Vaughn stated. Sark began pouting.

"As I said… I'll drive," Jack repeated calmly. Sark's pouty frown deepened, but he didn't argue.

"Umm… before we go…" Vaughn's hesitant voice faltered slightly.

"What?" Irina asked.

"Er… can I get a different shirt? This one is a bit ripped… too ventilated for my taste…" Looking over his shoulder, Irina could see Sydney's eyes widen, and she began shaking her head in protest.

"We own no extra shirts," Irina said firmly.

"Oh." Vaughn's face fell… again, not literally, it's just an expression people… anyway, his face fell, and his eyes were drawn to Lennox's prone form. The agent was beginning to come to his sense, and had just gotten to his feet when his eyes met Vaughn's. Looking down slowly, Lennow realized that his shirt was still in one piece… and dry. 

A prime target for a wet, nearly shirtless Michael Vaughn.

As Vaughn began stalking his prey, Sydney quickly formulated a plan of action.

"I'll get the shirt for you!" she called. She then proceeded to tackle Lennox and rip the shirt right off of him… tearing it into 47 pieces in the process. Vaughn groaned.

"Syd… I can't wear that!" Sydney gave him an innocent look.

"Oops?" Vaughn sighed.

"Fine… let's just head to the bus." As they all began moving towards the little yellow bus, Sydney turned to Lennox apologetically.

"Um… sorry about that. It was in my ow… er, your own best interest." Lennox glared at her, and then at his bare chest.

"Yeah…sure it was." She shrugged and released the shreds of his shirt into the wind. He sighed and once again stood up.

"Have a sporktacular day!" Sydney yelled over her shoulder as she ran to catch up with her group at the bus… wow, it almost sounds like she's on a field trip or something. I guess it almost is… but not really.

Once they were on the road, Irina pulled a piece of paper out from somewhere. No one really knows where. It doesn't matter anyway. What does matter is what Irina then proceeded to do with this paper. She held it up for everyone to see, and then began to read it.

"12 Step Program to Conquering the World. Step One: Brai-" she cut herself off quickly and looked around paranoidly (of course that's a word, silly) before laughing nervously.

"Oops… wrong paper." She quickly tucked that away and pulled out a different sheet of paper, which she skimmed over quickly before reading aloud.

"Steps for a Successful Rambaldi Road Trip. Step One: Mode of-" she was cut off by Weiss.

"Wait a minute… what does Rambaldi have to do with mooses?"

"Meese."

"Moosepotami."

"Moose." Everyone looked at Jack in surprise; it was his first contribution to the Great Debate.

"Rambaldi has something to do with everything… don't you know this by now?"

"Good point," Sydney mumbled. Irina nodded before continuing her reading.

"Step One: Find an old wise man."

"Wait a minute… when I interrupted you before, step one was something about mode of something or other." Irina stared at Weiss.

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Well, now it has nothing to do with that."

"Um… oh. Ok. Carry on."

"As I was saying: find an old wise man. Ask him for the answer." She folded the paper up and slipped it back where she had gotten it from. They all stared at her, awaiting more.

"Is that it?" Sark asked.

"Yes. Did you expect more?"

"Uh… well, yeah." Irina shrugged.

"Nope, the rest just talks about some kind of silly vision he had." She once again pulled out the paper and began to read.

"I saw an angel dark, a wraith perhaps, attempting to capture the moon. He was infallible. I asked him what he was thinking. 'Little thoughts,' was his reply. And then he fell into eternal damnation, one last word haunting the air… resurgam, he repeated. Over and over. And then, a ladder hit me in the head, and I woke up." Irina folded the paper again.

"What a weird dream," Will said. Irina shrugged again.

"Rambaldi was full of wisdom, and very ahead of his time. For example, did you know that New York is on the east coast because canaries are yellow?" Everyone stared at her in stunned silence. 

"Or that monkeys learn to speak so they can tell dolphins that they love them?" This received the same response. Irina sighed.

"Ok… octagons don't fit in circles because rectangles are made of cheese?" Even Jack turned to look at her then. She threw her hands into the air.

"Fine, look at me like I'm crazy! But when it turns out that the blue crayons really are for protein, you'll be wishing you had listened." With that, she stood, moved to the back of the little yellow bus, and sat down to meditate… or maybe to pout… one couldn't quite tell.


	4. The Sporkerific Army of Meesissippi

Later that night, Jack Bristow looked over his shoulder nervously. After a careful moment of studying, he decided that the coast was clear.  
In his usual SpyDaddy-ish manner, he cautiously reached over and turned the radio up… just a little. Not enough to wake up everyone who was asleep in back, but just enough so that he could hear it. 

And then, he began to sing. Quietly at first, but growing slightly louder with each passing moment.

"I'm like a bird, I'll only fly away… I don't know where my soul is, I don't know where my home is…" A groggy voice interrupted his performance.

"Jack… are you singing Nelly Furtado songs?" Will questioned. 

"No."

"Yes you are."

"No, I am not. You're just tired. And if you so much as imply anything of the sort to anyone else at any time…" Will waited for him to finish the statement.

"Well?" Jack glared at him.

"It was an implied threat."

"Oh… right. What, exactly, were you implying?"

"Figure it out yourself. Be creative." Will's face paled- which Jack could, of course, see even in the darkness generally associated with 2 in the morning- and then settled back down to sleep again.

A few hours later… what's that? Uh, no, I guess Jack never sleeps. Why would he? Sleep is just such a silly endeavor. Honestly, I think someone just made it up. Yeah… that's it… sleep is made up, just like the end of a certain other fic which shall remain unmentioned so rin doesn't hurt this here author… anyway, a few hours later, Jack's driving was disturbed by the noise of his beeper going off. The obnoxious noise also woke up everyone else on the little yellow bus, none of whom liked the noise… sorry, just seeing how many times I could use noise in once sentence. Isn't repeating the same word over and over again annoying? It is to me. 

Anyway, so the noise woke up everyone, and they didn't like the noise, but Jack finally managed to stop the noise by pushing the 'stop annoying noise' button on his cell phone… or beeper. Well, whatever that device making the noise was, he stopped it. The noise, not the device.

At any rate, everyone tiredly moved to the front of the bus, wondering what message Jack may have received. He closely scrutinized the text- while simultaneously keeping his eyes on the road, because of course Gabs would never advocate any unsafe driving- before finally deciding to read it aloud.

"Well… it's from Kendall…"

"What's it say?" Sydney asked.

"ANNOUNCEMENT: I know I have hidden it well, but I felt it was time to come clean with all of you… the truth is, I'm bald. Thank you for understanding." There was a very long silence.

"Well, that's certainly news to me," Will said. Everyone stared at him, wondering if he was serious. He shrugged.

"I vote for throwing him out of the bus," Sark suggested.

"Well lucky for him, this isn't a democracy," Irina noted.

"No? So what is it?" Vaughn challenged.

"It's a dictatorship… an oligarchy, if you will."

"Do I even need to ask who the dictator is?" Vaughn pondered. Irina stared at him silently.

"Didn't think so." There was another eerie silence, until a familiar Nelly Furtado tune drifted from the radio. Will's face scrunched up as he tried to remember why that should be important. Finally, he slowly turned and looked at Jack, who glared at him. Will quickly turned his face down to stare at his feet, which were much less intimidating. Trying to shake the feeling of Jack glaring at him in the rearview mirror, he began thinking of how things would be different if HE wrote the phone book…

Vaughn and Sark, in the meantime, were rifling through various bags that had been left on the bus, searching for shirts. Tragically, they couldn't find anything that would fit them. Not one. Isn't that just horrible?

While they searched, Sydney gleefully stood at the back of the bus near an open window, releasing various items of clothing into the wind. Somehow, no one noticed. Finally, having emptied the last bag, Vaughn sighed in annoyance. He turned just in time to see a white cloth flutter away in the breeze.

"Syd… what was that?"

"What was what?"

"That."

"What?"

"The thing you just put out the window."

"Oh, that thing? It was… just a thing."

"What kind of thing?"

"Just… you know."

"No, Syd, I don't. Care to fill me in?"

"Um… sure. Sure I do."

"Ok. Have at it.

"Fine Vaughn, I will." There was another long pause.

"Well?"

"Huh? Oh, right. It was… well Vaughn, all it really was… ok, to be truthful, it was the torn and bloody remains of a white flag carried by the noble, sporkerific army of Meesissippi, on a day in which they were brutally slaughtered- a horrible mass murder, it was- and yet refused to give in. That white surrender flag never went up. And their last wish was for it to one day be released from the back of a little yellow bus that was on it's way to Spokane." As Sydney finished her tale, a tear came to her eyes. Vaughn looked at her sympathetically.

"Really? Aww, I'm sorry Syd, I didn't know."

"Most people don't."

"Anything I can do to make it easier?"

"I just need some time to myself."

"No problem." Vaughn quickly herded the suspicious Sark away, while Sydney turned to stare out the window.

"The sporkerific army of Meesissippi?" Irina questioned a moment later. Sydney shrugged.

"Hey, when all else fails…" Irina nodded.

"Quick thinking. For the most part."

"Thanks… I think." Irina smiled and turned to head back to the front of the bus with Jack.

"Very impressive, Miss Bristow. You are quite the charming spy." Sydney grinned proudly, then hurriedly wiped the look away.

"Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Sark looked baffled, and quickly ran for protection at the front of the bus. Sighing, Sydney turned and headed up there as well, starting to feel bored by herself.

"So what's next?" Will asked. Irina thought for a moment.

"Jack… stop!" He quickly hit the brakes.

"No, not literally… we're in the middle of a freeway!" He shrugged and hit the gas.

"There's a stop we need to make before we continue on to Spokane."

"What? Where?" Jack questioned, staring at her.

"We need to go to Las Vegas. Immediately."  



	5. Disguises from Las Vegas

"Las Vegas??" Jack questioned shrilly. Irina nodded.

"Yes. It is the only answer."

"Obviously," Jack sighed. He quickly changed lanes without signaling, and soon they were headed towards Las Vegas.

"Just what are we doing in Vegas?" Vaughn asked.

"I have a contact there. He'll be helping us out with something." No matter how much anyone else begged or pleaded, Irina would say no more. Sooner or later, the group had made their way into Las Vegas, garnering a number of odd looks, likely for their method of transportation.

Or their strange lack of shirts. One couldn't be quite sure about these things.

At any rate, they arrived in Las Vegas, and Irina directed Jack to the Excalibur. As they pulled up, a shady little short man approached, carrying a large blue duffel bag. 

"That's him," Irina noted. 

"We're supposed to trust him?" Vaughn said dubiously.

"He does what he does for love of country. We just don't know which one," Irina replied. Jack gave her an odd look, but opened to door of the little yellow bus, granting him entrance.

"Hello… my name is Achilles Haascopelandsporkmeese. But you may call me Achilles." Everyone stared at him.

"Do you have the disguises?" Irina questioned.

"Of course," Achilles replied solemnly. He held up his small black duffel bag and began searching through it.  Eventually, he pulled something out and tossed it towards Jack, who caught it with ease, because he's Jack. After a moment of inspection, it was revealed to be Bill the Butcher. Jack raised his eyebrows, and Achilles shrugged. 

He then turned to Vaughn, gave him an appraising look, and quickly dug out something for him. As he opened it up, the color drained from Vaughn's face.

"You can't be serious…" Achilles only nodded. Vaughn sighed deeply, and proceeded to show everyone the Roman gladiator disguise he had been assigned. Sark was trying- and failing miserably- to conceal his laughter, until his own package came flying. He ripped it open secretively, and almost passed out when he realized what it contained.

"I am not going to wear… that," he gritted out.

"Whatever it is, yes you will," Irina replied. Sark glared at her, before sighing in resignation.

"Don't suppose I can trade it in?" he attempted halfheartedly. 

"Negative." Sark sighed again and pulled it out for everyone to see. When he did so, Sydney's jaw dropped.

"An ANGEL?" she gasped. Sark glared at her, but couldn't dissuade her burst of laughter.

"So apropos," Jack noted dryly. Sark turned his dour glare on him, but again had no affect. A few minutes later, Sydney finally had her laughter under control, and turned to face Achilles again. He had the same serious look on his face that he'd had from the beginning. He quickly handed her a package, and she looked around nervously. Sark was practically pouting in a corner, while Jack tried out his Bill the Butcher mustache. Vaughn was looking at his shiny plastic gladiator shield with fierce intrepidation. 

"Syd?" Will spoke up. She glanced to him, then tore into her package. A moment later, her worst fears were realized…

"I'm a stripper??" she screeched. Vaughn, Sark, Will, and Weiss all turned towards her quickly.

"What?"

"Honestly?"

"Whoa…"

"Nice career change." She glared at each of them in turn, then looked to her mother, who offered her nothing but a sympathetic look. Sydney angrily plopped down next to Sark, who tried to hide his grin.

"Shut up Sark." He snickered, but made no comment.

"Who's next?" Vaughn asked, his curiosity piqued after realizing that his was not, in fact, the worst disguise of the bunch. Achilles tossed a package to Weiss, who opened it without delay. His relieved sigh didn't make the rest of the group any less curious. A moment later, he happily held up a ninja costume.

"That is so anything but fair," Vaughn grumbled.

"I don't even want to hear it," Sydney shot back. Finally, there were only two packages left; Irina and Will each looked worried to some extent. For her part, Irina seemed more controlled, somewhat impatient, and vaguely curious- as compared to Will's thumbnail-biting, jumpy, sweating anxiety. Achilles tossed Irina her package first, prolonging Will's torture.

"A pharaoh?" Irina asked skeptically as she got her package opened.

"It was either that or Stalin," Achilles replied.

"The pharaoh works," Irina said quickly, clutching her costume to her. Finally, it was Will's turn. He snatched his package from Achilles' hands and ripped it open. A moment later, an odd looking garment clattered to the floor… as did Will.

"Are you ok?" Sydney asked worriedly, kneeling by his side. She ignored Sark as he began to pick up the disguise.

"Will? Hey, Will? Are you…" she trailed off as she caught on to the eerie silence in the bus. Slowly she stood and turned to face the rest of the group. Everyone- including Sark- looked shocked, and Sydney immediately realized why. She whirled on Achilles.

"That is just cruel." 

"It was the best I could do."

"What about the Stalin you mentioned?"

"He is popular. It sold out."

"I can't believe this!" Sydney sighed.

"I find it rather amusing," Sark mused.

"You would," Sydney snapped.

"What? What's not to like?"

"Everything!"

"Syd… you have to admit, it's pretty funny," Weiss said slowly.

"No, it isn't!"

"Yeah, it really is. I mean… what kind of twisted mind would think of disguising Will Tippin as a Las Vegas showgirl?"


	6. Trying Them on For Size

Look out for a _very_ special ending for the end of this chapter…

Sydney paced back and forth down the narrow aisle of the bus, pausing every so often to glance at Will's inert form. Finally, she glared at Achilles.

          "That is cruel and unusual," she said slowly.

          "Mostly just unusual," Vaughn added.

          "It may not be unusual for him," Sark stated.

          "What?" Weiss wondered aloud.

          "Well, do you know what he does in his free time? Neither do I," Sark mentioned.  Everyone's gaze swiveled to Will, who finally stirred slightly.

          "No way!" Sydney stated certainly. Sark just raised an eyebrow.

          "Whatever you say," he murmured.

          "Are you trying to tell us something?" Weiss asked. Sark whistled innocently, sending everyone into fits of coughing laughter. He glared at all of them.

          "We need to get moving if we want to get to… our destination on time," Irina said once the laughter had subsided.      

          "Our destination?" Jack questioned.

          "Yes," Irina replied quickly.

          "Why don't you refer to it by its proper name?"

          "Because."

          "Because why?"

          "Because… the hawk and the dove share equal space in the sky, but earwax does nothing for sandals." Everyone stared at Irina in stunned confusion, thus accomplishing her goal of making them all forget Jack's question.

          "Now, let's get our disguises on and get moving!" she said cheerily. They all moved off the bus, with Achilles disappearing into the dark night- because really, how goofy would it be for the night in Las Vegas to be anti-dark? It was like that in Amsterdam and all those other European places though, still bright until seriously 10 PM. It was weird. But anyway, let's move on with the story, shall we?

Sydney had finally succeeded in waking Will up.

"Are you ok?" she asked. He was still pale as a ghost, or maybe a sheet. 

"Please, Syd, tell me I was dreaming?" She shook her head.

"Nope. You're a showgir… uh, showboy." Will shut his eyes tightly, and Sydney momentarily wondered if he had passed out again.

"Do I have to?" he whined.

"Yup, 'fraid so." He sighed in resignation.

"For how long?"

"No idea." He sighed again. 

"Fine. Let me go get changed…" he mumbled. While he did that, Sydney herself changed- more like undressed, because as a stripper, how much clothing did she really have to put on? Not much, I'd bet.

So anyway. 

Vaughn was the first to reappear, nearly giggling in delight at Sydney's disguise, until he recalled what he himself was wearing.

"Syd… what kind of gladiator wears armor that only covers his neck? And really, I'm practically wearing a skirt. And a short one to boot. There's just something wrong with that."

"Not in my book," Sydney said quietly.

"What?" Vaughn asked.

"Oh… I just said, uh… yeah. Totally." Vaughn frowned.

"That's not what it sounded like to me…" Sydney shrugged, and Vaughn frowned again.

"You know Syd, maybe I'm just paranoid… but lately, it seems like there's just some kind of crazy conspiracy to keep me without a shirt…" he trailed off thoughtfully, and so didn't notice as Syd glanced surreptitiously off screen.

"He's caught on! Does this mean we have to kill him?" she whispered. 

"No… I don't think I'm allowed to kill anyone this time," a mysterious voice replied. Sydney sighed in relief.

"But, I could be wrong. It's been known to happen on occasion. I'll look into it and get back to you next chapter." Sydney nodded.

"Thanks. I hope he doesn't have to die…" she turned back to see Vaughn giving her a strange look, and bit her lip nervously.

"Um, Syd…"

"Yes Vaughn?"

"Question for you…"

"Ok…"

"Do these sandals make my feet look too wide?" Sydney released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"No, not at all! I love them!" Vaughn frowned.

"Are you sure?"

"Here, see for yourself…" she reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a full length mirror, which she set up in the aisle. Vaughn took a long look at himself before frowning again.

"I dunno Syd… this 'armor' leaves my back and chest completely bare, and this… skirt-" the word was said with more than a hint of derision- "barely covers to my knees. I think I need the next size up, or something."

"Or something," Sydney replied.

"What?"

"Nothing. It looks fine. Sit down." Vaughn looked with apprehension at the leathery armor skirt- now now people, get those minds out of the gutter- before sighing yet again.

"Sit down? In this?" Sydney nodded enthusiastically, grinning as Vaughn tried to coordinate his efforts.

"I never realized how difficult skirts were…" Sydney had to tear her eyes away from Vaughn as she heard someone else returning. It turned out to be a frowning Sark.

"Now, do correct me if I'm wrong, but don't angels generally wear shirts along with their wings and halos?" He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"You mean… the disguise didn't come with a shirt?" Sydney asked innocently. Sark shook his head.

"No… just those obnoxious white pants, these fluffy white wings, and that shiny golden halo…" Sark's eyes turned upwards, and he 

See. Told you it was special.


	7. Leaving Las Vegas

Hope you all remember where the last chapter left off… enjoy!

didn't notice as Sydney quickly tossed something white out the window. She held her breath as the shirt floated by the bus.

"Was that…" Sark paused briefly, turning towards Sydney, who gave him an innocent smile.

"Was that a dove?" Sydney sighed in relief; another bullet dodged.

"Who knows? We're in Vegas, it could have been anything." Sark nodded absently.

"I suppose that's true…" Sydney kept a close eye on him as he reached for an overhead storage bin. He continued to stretch upwards, rummaging around in the bin for a few minutes before sighing in defeat and lowering his arms.

"I was hoping to find a shirt in there. It's a bit chilly out tonight," he explained dejectedly.

Sydney grinned stupidly.

A moment later, there was a commotion outside.

"How can I be a successful ninja if I don't have a shirt?" someone roared. Sydney fought to contain her laughter; she hadn't known Weiss would be forced into shirtlessness as well. He clambered aboard the bus and looked around angrily. His rage seemed to abate as he caught sight of Vaughn, still struggling to sit comfortably, and Sark, rubbing his arms vigorously in an attempt to warm up. Then he turned to Sydney, and gave her an appraising look.

"Well… at least I'm not the only one in this boat…" Sydney shook her head.

"Not at all, Weiss. Not at all…" He glanced around again.

"But you know, at least the shirtless gladiator over there doesn't look too bad, and the shirtless angel… is kinda goofy, but at least he's wearing white! I have black pants and a black mask; my skin totally clashes with it!" Sydney raised an eyebrow.

"Weiss… I didn't realize you were such a fashion expert." He flushed, and quickly pulled his ninja mask on.

"Well… it's just… you know." Sydney shrugged lightly.

"I mean, how can I be a ninja if the enemy can spot me coming a million and a half miles away?" he protested. Sydney laughed.

"Please… it's not like you're neon white or something." He pouted, and plopped into a seat near the back. Sydney rolled her eyes.

"I shouldn't be forced to be in this condition… it's just not right," Weiss mumbled, folding his arms and pulling his legs up in front of himself. Sydney turned to once again look at Sark, when she heard a joyous shout from Weiss.

"Found one!" he crowed, proudly holding up a black shirt. Sydney narrowed her eyes, but before she could comment, she was practically trampled by Vaughn and Sark, who each dove for the shirt. The three men fought over it, and before anyone could say that 'Port-of-Spain is the capital city of Trinidad and Tobago,' the shirt had been torn to shreds. All three stared at one another accusingly.

"It's your fault," Weiss said to no one in particular.

"It's his fault," Vaughn said, pointing to Sark.

"That's ridiculous," Sark protested. "If he hadn't made such a big deal of finding the clothing to begin with, this never would have happened."

"He has a point," Vaughn admitted.

"No he doesn't," Weiss growled. Sydney said nothing, watching the interaction happily, until she heard her parents returning.

"Jack, you must remember one thing: the Effeffnedders are complete idiots, and not to be trusted, at any cost." Sydney raised an eyebrow, wondering which clueless branch of society her mother was referring to.

"I realize that Irina… not to mention the fact that their English can be impossible to decipher sometimes…" They fell silent as they boarded the bus. Weiss growled as he caught sight of Jack.

"He's got a shirt," he grumbled. Catching Jack's glare, he quickly amended his statement, saying, "Which is totally understandable and well deserved." Jack wore black pants, a gray shirt, and a… flowered overcoat. He also carried a black top hat in his right hand.

"Is this Bill the Butcher resurrected as a hippie?" Sark questioned mildly. Jack glared at him as well, but he didn't back down.

"Might I remind you that I'm a very cold, shirtless… angel? It doesn't get much worse than this." Jack began laughing, causing everyone to look at him in awe. As suddenly as it had started, his cackling stopped, and he glared at everyone before proceeding to the front of the bus to take his seat as driver. Irina finally had room to step onto the bus. She wore a white skirt down to her knees, a teal and yellow shirt that just barely did its job, and a very Egyptian looking headdress.

She also wore a homicidal scowl.

"I don't look like a pharaoh. I look like… an Egyptian whore." Jack smirked as he looked back at her.

"At least you're mostly covered," Sydney replied through gritted teeth, indicating her black miniskirt {when we say 'mini,' we mean '[I]_mini_[/I]'} and lacy red bra.

"You do have a point," Irina conceded.

"Of course I do," Sydney stated. 

"Hey… where's Will?" Vaughn suddenly asked.

"I'll go find him," Sydney said, stepping off the bus. A moment later, she hurried back on.

"Sark… you go find him."

"What? Why me?" Sark demanded.

"Because I look like a damn prostitute, and you're semi-normal." He frowned.

"I refuse." Sydney glared at him, then looked around.

"Vaugh-"

"No."

"Weiss?" she pleaded; he sighed.

"Why must I always be the nice guy?" Sydney smiled.

"Thanks Eric."

"Don't mention it," he mumbled. The bus fell silent as he stepped off. Sydney took a seat across from Sark, who looked bored.

"Let's sing!" Sydney proposed. Jack and Irina stared at her; Vaughn shook his head vehemently; Sark shrugged.

"You'll sing with me?" Sydney asked hopefully.

"Sure… why not," he replied, sounding bored. Sydney grinned gleefully.

"How about… Row, Row, Row Your Boat?" she suggested. Sark brightened.

"I actually know that one!" With Jack, Irina, and Vaughn staring at them in amazement, Sark and Sydney began singing.

"Row row row your boat, 

Gently up the way,

Merrily merrily merrily merrily

You'll all die today." Sydney had fallen silent on the second line, and Sark looked around apprehensively as he concluded the song.

"You'll all die today?" Sydney questioned.

"Yes, so what?" he said defensively.

"That's… different…" Sark didn't reply, instead sitting back and glaring at everyone. These people really do like glaring, don't they? Is that healthy? Hmm… we don't know. Ah well. Let's move on now.

Sydney's next attempts at a group song proved futile, as not even Sark would join in now. So she settled for happily humming some Evanescence songs to herself while they waited for Weiss and Will to return.

A short time later, they did. Return, that is. Weiss re-entered the bus first, quite obviously having to literally drag Will with him. Will managed to slip his grasp a moment later, as Weiss flew back and landed on Vaughn.

"I'm not coming in there!" Will called.

"You'd prefer to be left on the streets of Vegas, dressed… however you are?" Sark questioned. "That should be quite the adventure." His point was obviously made, as Will came scurrying in a moment later, though still managed to conceal himself behind one of the seats.

"Come on Will… it can't be that bad," Sydney said gently.

"Yes it can. And worse!"

"Look around, Mr. Tippin! We're all in the same boat!" Sark said angrily.

"Oh yeah? Well you know what? None of you have bright blue feather attached to your ass!" Will declared as he finally stepped into view. He had a long, fluffy blue boa… thing… wrapped around his shoulders, a headdress of the same color… and even brighter blue feathers attached to the rather skimpy underwear he was, essentially, stuffed into. And, naturally, there was no shirt. That would just be utterly goofy.

Now, the real question here… would you believe me if I said I actually love Will?

So anyway… Will, now blushing a deep red, in sharp contrast with his lovely blue, uncomfortably made his way to a seat, only to discover the difficulties inherent in attempting to sit while one has feathers attached to ones ass.

"Uh… I'm not exactly an expert in the whole spy trade… but aren't disguises usually meant to deflect attention, not draw it?" Will questioned. Irina looked around furtively, then stood up.

"We're off to Sporkane!" she declared. Jack whispered something into her ear as she sat down, prompting her to stand again.

"My apologies… we're off to Spokane!" she declared. And with that, the long ride on the short bus continued once again.


	8. Just Kidding!

I know, it's been forever… sorry! Thanks to my AA readers for prodding me… ;) To show my appreciation to all of you, and make up for taking so long.. this update is almost twice as long as usual, and I'm actually really happy with it {I'm usually not.} So… enjoy!

And ff.net readers: sorry if I didn't catch all the formatting { the [I] kinda stuff} before posting… I tried to, but I think some may have eluded me.

The first five minutes of the bus ride were long, extended, and lengthy… not to mention unending. Sydney and Sark sat next to one another, each doing their best to cover up as much as possible. Jack and Irina spoke in hushed tones at the front, with Vaughn and Weiss complaining bitterly as Will tried to hide in the back.

Heh… hide.

Ahem.

Finally, Vaughn spoke up.

"I'm hungry." Jack glared at him in the rear view mirror.

"Deal with it."

"Actually, I'm rather famished as well," Sark put in.

"Yeah, I kinda am too, Dad," Sydney agreed. 

"Ditto," Will peeped in from the back.

"Food sounds pretty good," Weiss added.

"You're a bit outnumbered on this one dear," Irina noted. Jack sighed and slammed on the brakes, frowning as someone behind him laid into the horn.

"Impatient drivers," he muttered. "Now, just where do you propose we all go to, dressed like this?" he inquired.

"Subway!" Sydney called.

"Sizzlers!" Weiss requested.

"McDonalds, naturally," Vaughn suggested.

"Le Cirque at the Hotel Bellagio is fabulous," Sark recommended.

"I like Jack in the Box…" Will chirped meekly. {I really do love him, I swear it!} Irina just smiled enigmatically while Jack glared at everyone, ignoring the angry honking behind them.

"Subway, Sizzlers, and Le Cirque don't have a drive thru," he began.

"McDonald's does!" Vaughn interrupted excitedly. Jack level his gaze on the gladiator.

"True… and it's also, well… McDonalds. Just say no."

"Which leaves us with Jack in the Box," Irina observed.

"And do you know where one is, Mr. Tippin?" Jack questioned.

"Yeah, actually, I do," he called.

"Where?"

"Uh… ok, you know where Caesar's Palace is?" Will asked. Jack nodded and finally stepped on the gas, steering them in the direction of the aforementioned hotel.

"Ok, good… it's nowhere near there." Jack slammed on the brakes again, turning around to stare at Will. Seeing nothing but the bright blue feathers sticking up over the back of the seat, Jack sighed and turned back around.

"Then where is it?"

"Go left up here, and then right, and right, and straight, left, right, left, and there." Jack frowned, but followed Will's directions. A short time later, they were at Jack in the Box. Jack shook his head slowly.

"Forget it. I am not directing a little yellow bus full of freaks through a Jack in the Box drive-thru." Sark jumped up excitedly.

"Ooh, ooh, pick me! Pick me! I will, I'll do it, pick me!" Jack narrowed his eyes, but nodded slowly.

"Fine, Sark, on one condition." Sark suddenly looked nervous, apprehensive, and frightened.

"What might that be?" he asked timidly.

"The second we are out of the drive thru, you will move out of my way, or I will throw you out the window and derive great joy in running you over again and again and again." Sark blinked, but quickly nodded.

"Fine by me," he said.

"What is? Running you over repeatedly?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean…" Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand, and Sark took over at the wheel, gleefully guiding the bus.

"Um… is this bus small enough to fit?" Will called. His answer came in the form of metal screeching against the top of the drive thru. Sark shrugged and stepped on the gas, forcing his way through.

"So, Jack… what's this issue you seem to have with drive thrus?" Vaughn asked curiously. Jack looked away uncertainly.

"It stems from… a very traumatizing experience in Alaska, involving a McDonald's drive thru, a pair of sporks, and two slimy fish." Vaughn bit his lip and looked to Weiss, who shrugged.

"Ok… just, forget I even asked…"

"Consider it done." There was a brief silence, with the exception of Sark straining to pull the bus through. Finally, Weiss spoke.

"So… hey, did you know you can get Raiders antenna balls here? I'm no Raiders fan, but let's get one for the bus!" he suggested.

"Why on earth would you find Oakland Raiders antenna balls in Las Vegas?" Sark questioned.

"I don't know, but get one!"

"Welcome to Jack in the Box, may I take your order?" a feminine voice asked. Sark grinned devilishly, and looked over his shoulder. 

"Who's ordering what?" he queried. A list was passed forward moments later. 

"Ok… we'd like an order of fish and chips with a vanilla shake-" 

"Small, medium, or large?" she questioned.

"Medium. We'd also like a Jumbo Jack, curly fries, and a medium lemonade… and-"

"Small, medium, or large?" Sark raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Medium…" he repeated slowly.

"Ok. Anything else?"

"Yes. A sourdough Jack with a small coke, and if you ask '_small, medium, or large?_ again I shall be forced to kill you. Moving right along, we also need an Asian Chicken Salad with a small iced tea, a Supreme Croissant with a chocolate shake-"

"Small, medium, or large?" Sark growled in annoyance.

"Medium," he gritted out. "Also, a Turkey Jack with a small lemonade- hear that? Small. Small small small. Smaaaaaaaaaaallllll!"

"I'm sorry, did you say small, medium, or large?" With an angry screech, Sark reached for his gun. Irina quickly stopped him.

"Sark, you can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we don't have our food yet." With an aggrieved sigh, Sark put the gun down and turned around to finish their order.

"Small. And last, a Philly Cheesesteak with an Oreo Cookie shake."

"Small, medium, or large?"

"Medium," he replied pleasantly.

"Anything else for you?"

"Yes… seven orders of cheesecake." She was about to reply when he cut her off. "Ha! You can't say '_small, medium, or large?'_ to that one!" he crowed triumphantly.

"Will that be all?" he sighed deflatedly.

"Yes."

Your total comes to $32.47, please pull up to the window."

"Oh, one thing- we'd like our order to go."

"Uh… yeah… all drive thru orders are."

"Good. I'm glad we have that settled." He quickly pulled forward to the first window and waited for her to bring their food. Sark watched in amusement as the girl grabbed a pair of sodas and approached the window, only to be startled by the bus awaiting her, thus dropping both sodas, which splattered onto her pants. Sark cackled gleefully, causing everyone on the bus to shoot him a suspicious look. He smiled innocently as the girl once again returned with sodas. She passed them through, followed up by the shakes and the rest of their drinks. Giving him an odd look, she quickly walked away from the window, returning a few minutes later with their food. He took the bags and, after locating his Jumbo Jack, passed it all back.

"Thank you," he said pleasantly.

"You're welcome… have a nice night."

"Yes, you too. Oh, excuse me…"

"Yes?"

"Might I have one of your heads?" she stared up at him blankly, a hint of fear coloring her eyes.

"Umm… a head?" Sark sighed, pointing out the bucket of antenna balls just inside the window.

"Oh, you mean… oh! Ok, sure." She quickly handed him one, then backed away from the window. Sark smirked and headed the bus away from Jack in the Box. Moments later, he felt the coolness of a gun pointing at the back of his head.

"Yes, hello Jack… let me just move out of your way here…" he quickly grabbed his food and returned to his previous seat, and with Jack once again at the helm, they were soon on their way. Feeling bored after he'd finished eating, Vaughn began singing to himself, growing progressively louder- not enough to damage anyone's ears, but enough so that most could hear him. Still in the back, Will strained his hearing in an effort to determine what it was Vaughn was singing. He gasped as he identified the song as something resembling _Breathe No More_ by Evanescence. Deciding that this was important enough to move out of hiding for, he stood up and marched to the front of the bus, impatiently tapping Vaughn's shoulder. The agent stopped singing and glanced up at Will.

"What's up?"

"Is your name Amy Lee?" Will questioned. Looking baffled, Vaughn shook his head.

"No…"

"No?"

"No."

"Ok then… stop singing songs that should only be sung by her!" With an angry noise, Will turned and stalked to the back of the bus. In the process, his… tail feathers smacked Vaughn in the face, leaving him looking even more stricken than he had been before. His frown deepened as he heard Sark laughing at him. Weiss rolled his eyes.

"Never a dull moment…"

A few short hours later, they were somewhere else. Oh, it's true… it's damn true.

And in this somewhere else, Jack was busily driving. This, however, I refuse to verify the truthfulness of. That's right; I'm pleading the 5th.

So anyway, in this somewhere else, wherein Jack may or may not truly be busy driving, stuff happens.

"Will, what you said when we were leaving Vegas really hurt my feelings!" Vaughn protested.

"Too damn bad, Vaughn. The only- and I mean, only- person who should ever- and I mean, ever- sing Evanescence songs is Amy Lee. You're not Amy Lee; therefore, you shouldn't sing Ev. songs." 

"Come on, Will, he wasn't _all_ that bad. I mean, none of us went deaf from it, right?" Weiss defended his friend.

"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Tippin," Sark declared. All eyes turned to Sydney, who looked around in bewilderment.

"Peace offering!" she declared, jumping to her feet and handing out sporks to everyone. Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned…

Sark, after taking a moment to admire the gracent genius of the divinely inspired item, jumped into the aisle and viciously poked Vaughn, who yelped loudly- and, it may be said, rather femininely. He, in turn, threw his at Sark, who ducked, thus causing it to bounce off the window and into Weiss' hair. He grew annoyed and shook his head, accidentally flinging the spork at Will, who ended up with it caught in his blue boa. He growled and threw his spork at Vaughn, who actually managed to jump out of the way. Vaughn and Sark then circled one another {in the center of a little yellow bus. Riiight…} and jabbed at each other with their respective weapons. This went on for 12 minutes, with Jack and Irina choosing to ignore their shenanigans.

That is, until Vaughn threw his spork at Sark, missed terribly, and ended up hitting Jack with it. Startled and enraged, Jack stood up and whirled around, quite forgetting that drivers should, in most cases, pay attention to the road in front of them. Instead, he stormed back and punched Vaughn, then Sark, and then- just for good measure- Weiss as well. Will, he figured was already tormented enough, so he left him alone. Then, it occurred to him- he'd left the wheel, with the bus in motion.

Why Irina didn't just take the helm, we may never know.

There was then a loud racket, with lots of screaming and shouting, some obscenities, and otherwise just lots of really loud noise. Jack didn't reach the wheel in time to prevent the bus from flying off a cliff conveniently placed right in the middle of the somewhere they were driving through.

So, the bus hit the bottom, and there was a really big explosion with lots of fire and other pretties, and then they were all dead. Except for Irina, of course; she miraculously survived without a scratch. Amazing, isn't it?

So yes. Everyone's dead… but hey, look at the bright side- at least Will, Sark, Weiss, and Vaughn are all still shirtless.

*

*

*

*

*

Ha. Hahaha. Haaaaaaaahahhahahaaaaaa! I'm just kidding. No, they're not really dead. That'd be a fun ending though, wouldn't it? Haha. Ok, seriously now… they're alive. The last thing that actually happened was the part where they were driving somewhere else. You may have noticed that I said this was true, and that's because it was. After all, I would never lie to you as far as you know. Everything else that happened after that didn't actually happen.

And yes, they are all still shirtless. Rejoice.

So this chapter ends with them driving somewhere, probably on their way to Sporkane. Spokane. Yes, Spokane. One of these days, they may actually make it to their destination…

But not today.


End file.
